Chapter Text
It had been 3 weeks, but Keith still wasn’t sleeping.
The shared studio apartment he and his brother Shiro shared made for a cosy at best-suffocating at worst- situation. And, right now, with the gentle snores heard from the next room over- little light and otherwise blistering silence, it was safe to say Keith felt suffocated.
He didn’t understand how people could just...sleep, in times like these.
Nothing could be solved- and even if it could be , nothing was going to mean anything in the end, nothing was going to bring him back - so really Keith outta get used to this weighed down feeling and try to move on with his life.
But he couldn’t.
Glancing over to his desk, dimly lit by the half-drawn curtains over the window allowing slithers of night light into his room, he saw his frantic notes, desperate to make anything a lead, a new find- an answer.
And he still saw nothing.
The truth- the morbidly disgusting, all-consuming horror that he desperately tried not to believe- was that there was no answer. There was no answer, no killer, not even a lead. No suspect, no hunch, nothing that would make anyone at Altea Agency suspicious of someone.
And yet people were dying each week, in the same way, almost sticking to a routine.
And perhaps it was arrogance to blindly accept that Keith and the rest of the detectives working at Altea were in fact not part of the “general public” and therefore immune to any and all attempts this epidemic made- surely the killer wouldn’t get to him , right? They were the detectives of Altea- one of the biggest and most powerful cities on the planet. They were fearless, strong, invincible.
Until of course, that invincibility waved its hand goodbye and left, leaving each detective grief-stuck and horrified.
Lance McClain, an up-and-coming detective, part of the “Paladin” Squad- was the latest victim.
It was April 9th, an average day- slightly too warm for April, maybe, but aside from that- average. He left to get some case files from home- Keith distinctly remembered telling him not to be late or there would be serious consequences- and Lance had laughed , he had laughed that stupid gentle laugh that made any tense energy disappear, replaced with warmth and care and the overwhelming feeling of being safe. Lance had laughed and then remarked that he’d “only been gone 30 minutes.”
8 hours later, Lance’s body was found, laid as if sleeping, empty pill bottle opened and in his hand.
Labelled a suicide.
Just as routine.
The only difference here compared to all the other victims was that the detectives could actually argue that is was a murder- the evidence could suggest that it seemed as though Lance had quite clearly put up a tremendous fight, his knuckles bruised and cut, elbows and knees an angry red. Of course, this was almost immediately shot down by the doctors holding the largest playing card, insisting that Lance had somehow bruised himself, tore at his own hands and then, after these attempts failed, followed in the footsteps of the victims prior to his own death. In fact, one of the doctors, curling his lip, had remarked that it would make sense that his suicide would be exactly like the others, considering he was working on the case and knew the details of how the earlier suicides had taken place.
Keith, mirroring the rest of the detectives, shouted their injustices and pleaded that this couldn’t possibly be true- that Lance couldn’t have done this- all to no avail.
It made no sense.
And so here he was, accepting that sleep would once again not be joining him, rising out of bed and throwing whatever clothes he could find on before grabbing keys and a coat and making his way outside to the hallway.
On his way out, he briefly looked at Shiro, who was sleeping, surrounded by various different moving boxes stacked high. A twinge of sympathy passed through him- this was the third apartment in a row that didn’t work out, and Shiro and Adam were so excited to move in together. Apparently the lady- though at first seemingly incredibly welcoming and friendly- (“She’s Japenese like me, Keith! This is the one, I’m sure of it!”)- was under the impression that Adam and Shiro were best bro’s , and not, you know, engaged. And thus, once the big secret was revealed (they only had one bedroom) she huffily recommended they find somewhere else, quickly, and immediately.
He kept walking, until he reached the door and quietly, so as not to wake his brother, shut the door behind him, lept onto his bike, and began to drive.
After about 20 minutes of driving in the freezing cold and rain, he realised all this dramatic trip was doing to him was wasting gas money and time that could have been spent sleeping. As a last-ditch effort before he retreated back home, accepting defeat, he found himself at lance’s apartment, not 100% aware of what he was doing or rather, why. Slipping in the extra pair of keys Lance had given him a few months prior ( this was, of course, as a result of the sheer amount of times Keith complained about his eyes burning at accidentally walking in on Adam and Shiro) he closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and opened the door.
For a little while, Keith just stood, eyes drinking in the overwhelming feeling of life and living. The floor was clean, the sofa still crinkled from where he had probably slept on it while watching a movie. The remote was scattered next to random files and other objects over the coffee table, and he walked, gentle footsteps contradicting a face so overcome with emotion.
He was walking in a dead man’s apartment.
His friend.
Shock and childhood trauma had numbed his emotions, made his immediate reaction to grief or terror or sadness muted, only to be let out in private, when it was safe- when he was certain no more pain would follow. Keith could feel his mind beginning to do this once more as he walked around the apartment, looking at his friends belongings, mind overwhelmed with grief but body still walking, eventually finding itself in the heart of Lance's bedroom- inspecting, confirming.
He was gone.
He looked one last time around Lances room, for something- anything - when he noticed an incredibly worn out book followed by a pinboard that was not yet hung up, lying next to it.
It stood out to Keith, as Lance's stationery was always incredibly clean, incredibly beautiful work. His files were always the neatest, and his notes were colour coded.
This book was falling apart, had loose papers everywhere, and it was very, very old.
He walked over to it and opened it.
Scrawls of Spanish that Keith couldn’t read mixed in with the occasional English word exploded onto the pages. They were lined with pictures of random things- arms- knives, paracetamol bottles.
Flipping the pages more he realised quite quickly that Lances notes were about the suicides.
He frowned. That wasn’t his case.
It wasn’t anyone’s, really.
Coran had given it to Allura and Shiro technically, but Adam began getting invested as he spent so much time around Shiro, as did Keith himself after Shiro would discuss leads or breaks in the case.
Soon enough, almost the entire squad was trying to find details here and there (much to the unamusement of Coran).
No one had worked the case like this, though.
Looking over at the pinboard, he noticed that these notes were shorter. They were concise, but the writing was messier.
A break in the case.
The thing that his eyes were drawn to, however, was the card in the middle of the pinboard, with all the strings connecting the other notes across the board to it. It was almost circled with different points cascading their way across the board, and the words “Owner=Killer !!!” Were scrawled across in black.
Huh.
He looked over at the card, heart beating fast, then took it from its holding place.
It was a detectives identification card. Everyone at the precinct had one, and depending on which particular unit you belonged to and your individual officer number they had various different numbers.
So, Keith belonged to the 0009th precinct, in the 06th unit, and his individual number was 04- so his ID card read “0009604”.
The card that Lance had labelled as “the killer” read “0009609”.
That didn’t make sense.
He read it again, slowly.
0 0 0 9 6 0 9
But that wasn’t a real number!
There were 8 people in the Paladin Unit. Coran, the Captain, Allura the Sargent, and then Shiro, Adam, Keith, Lance, Hunk and Pidge.
There was no “09”. No 9th member of the unit.
He blinked again, and after running through various reasons through his head and coming up with nothing, he realised he’d be able to think clearer tomorrow.
As he was about to go, however, he quietly took the card and the book, but left the pinboard, as it was too big to carry.
Whatever was going on, maybe he could get Shiro or Allura to have a look at it. Maybe this is what they needed to find the guy who did this- who took Lance from them.
Keith huffed out a breath. This is what his life had become- stealing from his dead friends apartment.
He let out a breath. He was suddenly overcome with overwhelming tiredness.
He wanted to go home.
He looked down onto the ground as he shuffled out of the house, trying not to see details of Lance’s life splashed around the area. As he reached for his keys he noted they were sticky and looked over into the puddle they had unknowingly been placed into to see a half-open empty soda bottle laid out, its contents spilled freely across the coffee table. Somehow this is what did it for Keith, who felt tears prick at his eyes and a white-hot lump began to form in his throat. He hastily shut the door behind him and locked it before rushing down the stairs of the apartment complex and once again climbing on his bike.
It was raining heavier now, but he turned on the engine and sloppily began to drive home. There was very little traffic due to the ungodly hour he was driving in, and Keith took this as an opportunity to drive even faster.
He could barely see anything, could barely even hear anything but the loud crashing of the rain which was drenching him and his bike. Keith didn’t care.
He drove and drove and drove until he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. Keith didn’t want to feel anything anymore. He was pathetic, what did he think doing this would do? Even if they did find something to tie someone to the suicides, that wouldn’t bring his friend back, would it?
And that’s on the assumption that Lance's intel is all 100% fact, and not, in fact, random notes and scribblings a detective made in his spare time.
The truth is, Keith was useless, unsure of what to do and how to do it and desperate for some sort of answers that were obviously not going to come so he should just grow up and deal-
And suddenly, he was flying, flying through the air, unable to even process the car hitting him or the pain that followed until he was on the gravel, mind screaming in pain, sounds growing more and more distant. .His arm burned, his face felt hot, he couldn't move Though his eyesight was fuzzy, he was distantly aware of a figure stepping out of the car and growing closer to him. There were sounds- voices that he couldn’t quite understand, didn’t want to understand.
In a weird, almost masochistic way, one of which he would later pretend as if wasn’t real and just an aftershock thought, he almost felt happy- he asked for numbness, and it had granted his request
As he closed his eyes he felt himself smile somehow. He was at peace.
Then nothing but a never-ending cataclysm of darkness. No more pain.
The first thing that confused Keith was his alarm going off.
He had been struggling to sleep so much that it was rare for him to be asleep when it went off, and so he had opted for turning it off completely,
Yawning slightly he reached forward to shut it off, dismissing it as a faulty system, or his sleep-deprived brain forgetting and accidentally putting it back on, part of muscle memory.
He reached his arm over to the alarm clock- but it didn’t move.
Huh.
He reached again.
Nothing.
Blinking away the sleep in his eyes, he glanced down and was met with sheets that were white and green. Glancing around the room, confusion finally left when he realised he was not in fact, safe and sound in his room, but in what appeared to be a hospital room.
He was just about to try his luck calling for someone to explain whatever the hell happened when the door flew open, and with it, a very frazzled Shiro and apologetic-looking Adam. “I’m sorry,” Adam began. “I tried to calm him down, but-”
“What. were. you. thinking! ” Shiro screeched. “You- You!” He was scathing, marching over to Keith’s bed with what Keith would like to think was an unnecessary pace, before continuing. “It’s a miracle you weren’t hurt! A miracle! Why were you- What were you- Why did you think it was a remotely good idea to go out on a joyride at 2 in the morning?”
Keith blinked. “Uh-”
“Are you on drugs?” Shiro continued. “Are you? Are you high? Oh my god, are you still high now?”
“He’s not on drugs, Shiro.” This was Adam, who had silently closed the door Shiro had apparently attempted to blast off and had taken to hovering behind him quietly. He briefly shared a look with Keith. “You’re not, right?”
“I’m not on drugs!” Keith said exasperatingly. “Not then and not now!”
For whatever reason, this seemed to calm Shiro, who began nodding silently, then muttered, “that’s good” before sinking back into the chair next to him.
Thinking that now was as good a time as any, Keith hesitatingly began: “Uh.” He began, “I think I’m having trouble figuring out what exactly happened?” He said. “So- what...what did happen?”
Shiro stared at him blankly. “You don’t remember anything?”
Keith shook his head, to which Adam and Shiro shared a brief look, before turning back to Keith. Shiro sat forward a little, anger fizzling out to be replaced by the concern in his eyes. “You okay, kiddo? Seriously.”
And shit, whatever he did do, it must have been really bad, because Shiro hadn’t looked at him like that since back in his angsty teenage years when he would steal Shiro’s bike or disappear for 3 days at a time, or god-knows-what. He was in a bad place- his father had just died and no one wanted to take him in, foster care with his “new family” wasn’t working out and the kid who was apparently supposed to be his brother couldn’t look at him for more than 3 seconds without asking him if he was okay.
Shiro thought something big had happened.
And judging by the way he was staring at him, eyes getting bigger and sadder as the seconds continued, Keith realised he ought to reply. “I’m fine, Shiro.” This did nothing to quell the concern in his brother’s eyes. He tried again. “I’m honestly, genuinely fine. I don’t know what’s happened. All I really remember is driving home from Lance’s apartment.”
They looked at each other again, this time Adam frowning. “Lance never said anything about you being at his that night.”
Keith stared in utter confusion at Adam. “What do you mean?”
“Why would Lance not tell us?”
Shiro tensed his jaw. “Did he...Did Lance do anything to you whilst you were with him, Keith?”
Something wasn’t making sense. Keith was still dreaming. Lance was gone , why were they joking about him like this? What sick prank did they think they were pulling? “Wh- What are you guys even- How could he have- I don’t understand-”
He was interrupted by the door opening again, this time with more figures spilling through. First appeared Hunk looking relieved, next Pidge, looking concerned. Slowly, Allura and even Captain Coran shuffled in, both looking as if they were still in the middle of some sort of conversation. However, none of the detectives who had just walked into the room was responsible for the clear voice that rung out loud and clear, shrill but instantly recognisable.
The man pushed his way through the other detectives before standing still, locking eyes with Keith. Lance McClain stood, chest heaving, eyes were blown wide, and very much alive. “Keith!” he cried. “I was so worried!”
Maybe Keith was on drugs.
It would make sense as to how a man that had supposedly taken his own life 3 weeks ago was standing in front of a hospital room surrounded by people who didn’t seem to think it was weird that a dead man was walking around- as if he was alive.
Shit, did Keith do drugs?
He briefly registered Lance worriedly staring at him, coupled with Shiro and Adam glaring at Lance (instead of freaking the fuck out that a dead man was somehow alive and well). He looked over to the others, who had shuffled over into the remaining unoccupied corner all watching him continue to lay unresponsive to Lance.
Yeah. He should probably do that.
“Uh…” He swallowed. “Lance. It’s uh. It’s good to see you..?"
“Good to see me?” Lance looked confused. “Why do you sound so weird?”
Keith blinked. “I’m in the hospital”, he replied dumbly.
Lance didn’t look convinced but dropped it.
The rest of the session went as awkward as the beginning. Everyone attempted to make more conversation, but Keith was still staring at Lance, questioning whether or not he had truly lost his mind.
He was discharged pretty quickly, as he only suffered a broken arm and a mild concussion. Shiro drove him back to their joint apartment, talking about nothing in particular, probably trying to make conversation.
“We found a new landlord, she’s Japanese. I think this may be it, Keith, after all, you know what they say- third times the charm.” He began, to which Keith would hum and nod, mind still unable to piece what had happened at the hospital back together. Clearly, as a result of him not listening, Shiro would then try to mooch onto a different topic, starting off once more:
“Pidge told me she was going to take some time off soon- she’s working on another one of her projects”
Again, Keith would nod and would wait until he could just go home and sleep.
When he finally got home, Shiro had to silently help Keith into the apartment. His phone had apparently not survived the crash, and Keith mourned the loss of both his phone and his wallet (even though somehow the contents inside survived? Go figure) after he eventually went and bought one. The point, dear reader, was that Keith had yet to see the time-hell, he only knew it was Wednesday after Shiro had told him so. Which meant he must have been unconscious for no more than a day or so.
Now he was back in his room, he looked over at the time- 11:37pm- and decided he might as well check any emails or messages he may have gotten whilst in hospital (that’s right, he lived an exhilarating life). Yawning slightly, he opened his laptop, brushing dust that had gathered on it whilst he had been away. Once opened, he began to type in his password- then stopped.
He looked at the date the screen showed him.
April 3rd, 2019.
Keith started, unblinking. That couldn’t be right. It was April 30th. He had gone over to Lance’s house April 30th- he remembered the days leading up to it, including April 9th. It had already happened.
He logged on and immediately went to check the computer wasn’t malfunctioning but all seemed fine. Shaking his head slightly, he typed into google “Date” and immediately, answers came back.
April 3rd, 2019.
What the hell?
He checked his phone, his calendar, he shut his phone off and restarted it, he grabbed his calendar diary off of his desk, anything that had any sort of date.
April 3rd, 2019.
He stood up from his chair violently, accidentally knocking it over in the process. The noise was loud enough to alert Shiro, who was neck-deep in Protective Brother(™) mode, who then yelled; “What happened!” Before materialising into his room.
Shiro saw the chair before he saw Keith, standing with eyes wild and confused, a good arm covering his mouth. “Keith?” he said. “Keith. You okay?”
Keith was still staring at the computer. “What’s the date.”
Shiro blinked. “What are you-”
“Shiro what is the date.”
Shiro opened his mouth and then closed it. Then: “Wednesday, you know tha-”
“The date, Shiro! What’s the fucking date!”
The older man hesitated for a moment, then replied, “April 3rd”.
And somehow this meant something to Keith, who let out a sharp breath and then wobbled for second before regaining balance. Keith thought back to the events earlier- Shiro and Adam finding an apartment- Shiro saying “3rd times the charm”- the storm that was scheduled tomorrow even though just a few weeks ago there had been another and in April these were rare- Pidge getting earrings in a few days -it made sense.
Somehow, the craziness made sense. Maybe his whole thing was a weird drug trip, or a fever dream, but either way, one thing was certain to him.
He was in the past.
After Keith convinced Shiro was fine and everything was fine and he was just overreacting, he was left alone to figure out what this all meant.
Somehow , he had already lived through this day, and the next, up to April 30th. And it wasn’t like he was in some weird alternate dimension, all the events that had gone on were still currently going on.
Apart from the accident, it was like he was really back in the past, exactly.
Which, he realised, meant that the events of the next week were still going to happen. Logically speaking, events that had happened today (aside from his hospital trip) were exactly the same- the news, the weather, Shiro’s apartment hunting- it was all the same, he sat down with himself, looking up into the ceiling on his bed, restless and very much awake.
Maybe the doctors were right.
The only people who could have possibly known about Lance- about the killings- were his team. Something of which he didn’t want to think about- couldn’t think about at the time, because the news of his best friend dying and his other best friend being responsible for it would be too much. But- what if it was true. The rest of the suspects- suspects, was that what he was calling them now?- had been doing something with someone, their names cleared.
Then there was the pinboard he saw in Lances room- the clear messages, frantic but full of information, leading up to the card that Keith had quietly stashed away in his ruined wallet. Taking it out now, he looked over the numbers once more and compared it to his own. Whilst his number card was still the same- the number of precinct- “9th”, followed by the particular unit he was a part of, the “6th” and then his officer number- the fourth in his unit.
0009604
The other card still read ending with “09”- it wasn’t a trick of the light, or his head messing him up.
The only way someone could make another card is if a current detective showed proof of their old card, whether it’s through documents, pictures, or other forms of identity. Then it goes through processing, and the entire squad is informed through the commissioner or the squad's captain that a new card has been registered.
They do this to prevent potential criminals taking the files, and to help make sure no one loses a file. All files accessed, all weapons, data, it all has to be used via the card, and the identity of the cardholder is registered within the system. They’re personalised, so no one outside of the “Paladin” unit would have the “06” on the card number.
So that meant one of the detectives within the unit had to file for a missing card.
And according to Lance, the card owner was responsible for the weapons disappearing within the precinct, the cameras malfunctioning whenever a new victim is found; the evidence being tampered with.
And, of course, the killings.
Which could only mean one thing.
One of his team- Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Hunk, and Adam- was responsible for Lance’s murder.
One of them killed Lance McClain.
He held his breath. Is he really going to do this?
If he did, everything would be different, forever. Someone in his life...would be a convicted serial killer.
But if he didn’t- everything would be the same.
Lance would still die.
Keith couldn’t let that happen.
It was April 3rd. Lance died on April 9th.
Which meant starting tomorrow, he would have 5 days to figure out who killed Lance McClain, and prevent it from happening again.
5 days. 5 suspects.
He let out a breath.
Let’s do this.